


Czeslaw Meyer Finds His Years Of Torture To Be Advantageous

by alienchrist



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-22
Updated: 2010-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:22:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienchrist/pseuds/alienchrist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth was, dying never really hurt any less, no matter how many times Czeslaw did it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Czeslaw Meyer Finds His Years Of Torture To Be Advantageous

The truth was, dying never really hurt any less, no matter how many times Czeslaw did it. There might be reasons for that - the hundred-times remade cells of his body were always new, so they relearned the pain every single time, or perhaps it had something to do with his own perception and tolerance, or the fact that all nerve damage would heal itself. The stabbing cold of a blade drawn across his gullet would never really change. Assuming the blade was of equal sharpness and its wielder equal strength each time, the effect would be naturally be the same as it sliced. His skin would never be any thicker, never give more resistance. The gurgle of his blood in his throat and spurting from his jugular would sound and smell exactly the same, and be of relatively the same temperature. These factors were variable, but really, his ability to feel pain was more or less unaltered from one flaying to the next.

After awhile, Czeslaw did grow used to it. A testament to human spirit, perhaps, that he did not go completely mad, or that he could at least grow to anticipate which pain it would be by the item presented to him. A white-hot fire poker. It would sizzle, just a little, burning the skin and faint hair of his brow and lashes as it was inserted into his eye-socket. He was able to predict and note it with an almost scientific calmness. But it never hurt any less when his eyes leaked out in boiling blood and vitreous humor, and most of the time, he still screamed his throat raw.

The fear went away. That made him a little bolder, enabled him to stare psychopaths like Ladd Russo in the face. He was able to see so much in faces. Years of studying the faint expressions of his caretaker through the blinding pain taught Czeslaw to read emotion. He recognized Fermet in the blond gangster, though his giddy sadism was so much less thinly veiled. Czeslaw wasn't sure if he hated or respected that, but he certainly didn't feel for him what he did for Fermet. He was not bound by Ladd in any way, and therefore didn't fear him. So what if Ladd shot him? He already knew what it felt like to be turned into pink mist. The low-life barely concerned him. Without the shadow of death looming over, Czeslaw was able to consider the real possibilities and methods of self-preservation. He could gamble with his life and lose nothing.

"Could you do something for me, sir?" Czeslaw's voice, like the sound of flesh tearing or sizzling or the smell of blood and burning hair, would never really change. It echoed off the walls of the freight car, saccharine, but more importantly, convincing. "All those people in the dining car - would you kill them for me, please?"


End file.
